Fistful of Death (Peter Chambers)
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The proposition sounded like a pushover. All Peter Chambers had to do was find out where a teen-aged chorine had been for the past month and why. And for that information the girl's father, a prosperous banker, would pay Chambers a cool thousand dollars. It was a quick way to earn some easy money. So Chambers thought...until he found out that the fistful of cash carried a little something extra along with it—A FISTFUL OF DEATH.
what he was doing. He said no, that he wasn’t looking to share any of the proceeds with her. Once we made a deal, he said, he’d even see to it that she went home, and got out of both our lives. On the other hand, if I didn’t make a deal, he’d get the right people to do the talking, people like columnists and newspaper guys, and once the D.A. took her in for questioning, the kid would of course crack wide open. It wouldn’t be any fun for me, he explained.” “It wouldn’t be,” I said. “Damn right
followed the doctor. “Lousy break,” Lawson said, and then pricked up as Cole came in with Linda Moreno. Linda was wearing a simple black knitted dress but pressed to Linda’s audacious curves the simple black knitted dress lost all its simplicity and became very intricate indeed. Even Cole’s deputies pricked up. “Miss Moreno, it appears,” Cole said, “was the last person to see Mr. Flanders alive. I prefer that she tell her story here before witnesses.” Although I was tempted, I did not say,
it. Where’ve you been?” “Sleeping,” I said. “Wait for me, will you? I’ve got some news.” “I’ll be waiting, laddie.” Back at the table, I hustled Duff into action. He paid, I offered him my share, he waved it off, and we quit Nino’s. Outside I said, “We’d better stop off for the affidavits.” “I’ve got them with me,” he said. “Smart fella,” I said. “Let’s walk a bit and sort of refresh our story.” “Nothing to refresh, really,” Duff said as we strolled. “I’m going to tell the entire truth,
beginning to end. Look, would you come into the resident’s office with us? We can kind of spread out there, make our notes.” “Yes,” Bruce said. Anderson said, “Stick around,” and he and Wiley and Lawson went downstairs to the resident’s office. Suzy and I sat, numbly waiting, smoking, not talking. Then the resident came into the little waiting room with a small white-haired man. “This is Dr. Harley,” he said. “How do you do, sir?” I said. “How is she?” His eyes were soft and kindly and tired
personally.” “Personally? Like you can hit me a shot in the head the minute my back is turned? Is that what you mean?” “Will you come here, please, Mr. Chambers?” “Pal, I’m coming, you can depend on that. If you’ll only stay put.” “I’ll be here the rest of the night, Mr. Chambers.” “You’d better be, Mr. Banker, else you’ll have more cops around you than you’ve got capital gains schemes for your clients.” And with that I hung up on him. I hung up hard. You cannot hit an old man even though he